


Beyond the pleasure principle

by iridescentglow



Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-07-16
Updated: 2005-07-16
Packaged: 2017-12-23 13:55:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/927281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iridescentglow/pseuds/iridescentglow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Veronica is torn between living the soft-focus dream of dating Duncan and the more dangerous prospect represented by Weevil.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beyond the pleasure principle

"This place. _This_ is where you wanted to go. Because _school_ is what gets you off."

"Hey, it's my date. You said you'd take me anywhere I wanted to go—"

"Did you hear the word **date** come out of this mouth?" Weevil interrupted. "Did that word ever pass these lips?"

Veronica slid into his personal space, slipping her hands inside his leather jacket. She brought her face close to his. "I bet some other things have come out of that mouth," she murmured. Weevil felt his eyelids growing heavy, as Veronica's hands coaxed lower. Finally, he moved his head to kiss her.

She pulled away, abruptly, before his lips could find hers.

"Oh **baby** ," she said loudly, spinning around ostentatiously. "Yeah, baby, oh **yeah**." Her lips pouted around the bolded words, throwing them mockingly at the shadowy school buildings that surrounded them.

"Would you shut the fuck up? If you're on school premises in the middle of the fucking night, you be _quiet_ about it. First rule of B an' E." He rolled his eyes. Then considered for a moment, adopting a slight leer. "Also. If you wanna be shouting like that, I can think of more entertaining activities than breaking into Neptune High."

"We're not breaking in. And who says we can't combine activities?" Veronica said, lifting her eyebrows.

"So we just gonna stand around in the parking lot. What kind of a date is that, little miss limo rides?"

Veronica looked at him hard, the corners of her mouth threatening a smile. Weevil hastened to add, "Not that it's a date."

"Right," Veronica said. "No dinner. No movie." She stepped away from Weevil. He watched as her fingers pulled at the hem of her shirt. She hesitated for a moment—Weevil realized he was holding his breath—and then she yanked the green cotton tank up over her head.

Weevil forced himself to exhale slowly. Her bra was white and lacy. _Shit_. That wasn't supposed to turn him on. He didn't need some mixed up little girl who just wanted someone to hold her in the middle of the night. Weevil could be a lot of things – but he wouldn't be Duncan-fucking-Kane.

Veronica, twirling her shirt on the end of her finger, sashayed with mock-provocativeness over to Weevil's bike. She draped herself over the seat, posing like the cover of a men's magazine. Cheeks sucked in; lips flared into an outrageous pout; the dark of her nipples revealed and obscured by the sheer fabric of her bra.

He took a step toward her, but she wagged her head back and forth. "Uh uh," she said.

He stopped.

"Your turn," she continued, her face finally breaking into a wicked smile.

"Oh. That how we're playing it?"

"Tit for tat," Veronica said, grinning. She moved her shoulders, and her breasts jiggled slightly.

Without hesitation, Weevil shrugged his arms out of his jacket, letting it fall to the ground. He paused, and then pulled off his wife-beater.

"I was right," he said, taking a single step toward her. "You like it a little freaky. You play games with your boy Duncan?"

Weevil saw Veronica's expression freeze. She tilted her head forward, so that her hair fell in her eyes. "Take the rest off," he heard her say.

"You first," he said. He took another step toward her.

"That's not the way we're playing it," she said sharply. Through her hair, he saw her eyes flash.

He undressed slowly – kicking off his shoes, lowering his pants; all without taking his eyes off her.

"Now," he said distrustfully. " _You_."

She brushed the hair out of her eyes. Her confidence was back, he noted; all thoughts of Duncan banished. "Turn around," she said as her fingers found the hook on her bra.

Weevil began to protest, but Veronica cut him off. "Turn _around_ ," she repeated. It was almost a snarl.

He turned around.

There was a brief interlude – _too_ brief, he realized dimly. And then he felt her fingers brush the back of his neck— followed by a shock of electricity.

The first taser burst sent him spinning; the muscles on his neck jerking uncontrollably. " _Je_ sus!" he howled. A glimpse of Veronica's upright form (still dressed – god _damn_ it!) fell through his vision as he landed hard on the ground.

Veronica bent down, and before he could stop her, she had placed the taser against his chest. The second jolt of electricity paralysed him, and he could only gape at her.

She stood up. She had already put her top back on, and now she reached down and retrieved Weevil's leather jacket from the pile of his clothes on the ground. ("You don't mind if I borrow this, right? I'm feeling a little chilly.") The leather creaked comfortably as she shouldered the jacket.

"You know," she said conversationally. "I never asked Wallace exactly how he came to be _naked_ on the flagpole." She began rummaging through her bag, and finally produced a roll of duct tape. "I bet it's one hell of a story." She paused to consider. "Our way was pretty fun, though, wasn't it?"

"You're out of your fucking mind," Weevil finally managed, his voice rasping as he rolled over onto his back.

Veronica ignored him. "You do know how to show a girl a good time. As far as first dates go, I'd call this a success." With a loud sucking sound Veronica ripped off a length of tape.

She kneeled down beside him, gave him a quick kiss, and then gently pressed the tape over his mouth. She looked up, motioning over his head. 

"It shouldn't take long to tape you to the flagpole, Eli," she told him cheerily, reaching for the duct tape once more. "I'm stronger than I look."

*

       
  
_Two days earlier_   
  


     Veronica was approaching her climax. The world was beginning to fray around the edges. The onset of her orgasm made the particulars of Duncan's room fade to a soft fog of pure white. Sunshine from the tall windows blinded her.

    "Baby . . ." he whispered dreamily, and the grip of her fingers tightened around his shoulders.

    Every time Duncan makes love to her, she can't help but pretend it is the first time. Sweet moans and soft caresses in a big white bed. It can't be that hard, she reasons; to just _select, copy & paste_ these new sensations onto that big black hole of a memory. But there's too much that needs revising: she can't quite alter the words that feel tattooed all over her body, replacing **demeaning** and **wrong** with _magical_ and _beautiful_.

     They're still not the Duncan-and-Veronica that they once were. She flinches when he tries to hold her hand in public. She hides from Jake Kane (the man who was one strong sperm cell away from being her father), leaving the house by sneaking out round the back, past the pool and crime scene. But she can't keep away from him; he'll always be Duncan and she'll always be Veronica. She's almost certain that even a different paternity test result would have brought them back to this same place.

    "It's Laura's party tomorrow," Duncan said softly.

    Veronica lay nestled in his arms, trying not to think. "What?" she replied faintly.

    "Laura Andrews," he prompted. "Her parents are away this weekend."

    "Oh."

    Veronica heard footsteps outside the bedroom door. Her body tensed, and she propped herself up on her elbows. Duncan's grip on her loosened. The footsteps passed, and Veronica heard the sound of someone singing quietly. A bucket thudded against the floor. It was just the maid.

    Still, reality was encroaching on their perfect bubble of lovemaking.

    "I have to get home," Veronica said hurriedly.

    Duncan sighed. "I think we should go," he said.

    Veronica leaned forward, searching for her underwear. "What?" she said distractedly.

    "You and me. Laura's party."

    She turned to look at him. She recognized the taut note in his voice; somewhere beyond exasperation, but not yet reaching real frustration. _Not that far short of all-out crazy_ , a voice at the back of her head reminded her.

    She produced a wan smile. "I don't think I'm invited, Duncan. I can check when I get home, but I'm pretty sure my invitation wasn't accidentally delivered to Mr. Hayes at number 30." She leaned down to kiss him quickly, before resuming her search. "It was a sweet thought, though," she said dismissively.

    "Stop acting that way, Veronica. Acting like everyone hates your guts," he said. Veronica heard the first chord of anger in his voice

    She felt his hand flatten against her spine. She didn't turn to face him, but her head rolled backward slightly as she felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck. He leaned forward, kissing the place where his index finger met her skin. She moved her head again and a few strands of her hair fell into his face.

    "That's behind us now," he said, murmuring the words as his hand coaxed against her back and lips moved to kiss her again. She heard the restored control in his voice. She wasn't sure what frightened her more; the way he used to snap, or this new current of anger that rippled underneath a carefully shatterproof calm.

    "They don't want me there, Duncan."

    " _I_ want you there. You're my girlfriend. I don't care about anything else."

     Veronica pulled away suddenly, pushing her feet out from under the covers and hitting the floor. "I'm sorry. I can't."

    She found the rest of her clothes, bundling them on as quickly as possible. Finally, she cast one last look in Duncan's direction, wondering exactly what cocktail of anger and desire she'd managed to provoke this time. She found herself disappointed that he had turned away and was looking out the window.

    "I'm sorry," she said again. He didn't reply.

*

Veronica was making cookies. It was a fairly girly and ridiculous thing to be doing on a Saturday night, she realized – but the methodical processes (measuring the milk, weighing the flour) made her feel calm. The phone rang and she didn't answer it. It rang once more and she ignored it again. She bit into a hot-from-the-oven cookie and burned her tongue.

    The third time the phone rang, she picked up.

    "Veronica? It's Meg. I'm at the party . . ." Meg's voice on the other end trailed off, as if she'd been pulled away. Veronica imagined her turning her head away from the receiver, distracted by the scene in front of her. ". . . it's Logan . . ." Still faint, still muffled. "He's—" Meg's voice finally clicked back into loud focus, as if she had brought the receiver very close to her mouth—"look, I think you should come here. No one knows what to do. He's . . . _shit_ —" She swore the way that people who never swear do; awkwardly, with a tinge of desperation.

    There was a clatter, as if the phone had been dropped. From what sounded like very far away, Veronica heard Duncan's voice.

    "—is that Veronica? Let me—"

    Veronica hung up.

    She didn't care that she was dressed in jeans and a flour-covered shirt. She jammed her feet into a pair of sneakers and grabbed her keys. She scribbled a note to her dad: _Second batch of cookies in oven – take out at 9:30!! Won't be late home. Save me some choc chip. XO, your very own domestic goddess_. She paused, hesitating for a moment, and then made a quick phonecall. Five minutes after Meg's call, she was on the road.

     Laura Andrews had been on pep squad with her. She was one of the girls who could usually be found in the locker rooms ten minutes into first period, choking on hairspray fumes, TommyGirl perfume and hysterical laughter. Veronica had been to her house only once—Lilly at her side, whispering in her ear snide comments about the _House Beautiful_ décor. Still, she remembered the address; in the heart of 09'er country, spitting distance from the Echolls estate.

*

"Veronica Mars!"

    Veronica hadn't planned on making such a dramatic entrance. Admittedly, entering through the Andrews' open front door hadn't been her finest moment as a private eye, but she wasn't expecting to find the hundred or more party-goers gathered in a hushed horse-shoe in the living room. She wondered briefly why there was no music, until she spotted the overturned stereo in the corner.

    Logan stood in the centre of the room, his arms spread wide. Veronica wondered whether his grin could be classed as 'maniacal'. If this were a horror movie, it would definitely be the moment the mild-mannered boy next door revealed himself to be the evil genius behind the rash of small town killings.

    "Come join the party!" Logan said jovially. "Another gatecrasher is just what we need to get this party _started_." His eyes slid abruptly across the room, to where Laura was cowering behind her boyfriend. "Or did my invitation get lost in the mail, _Laura_?" he added sardonically.

     Veronica's eyes did a quick sweep of the crowd. She noticed Meg near the front, dressed in pink and looking frightened. With a stab of jealousy, she noticed Duncan standing beside Meg. A second glance revealed that Duncan had a black eye.

    Veronica refocused her attention on Logan, trying to piece together what had happened. "What's going on?" she asked with forced calm.

    "I'm just trying to have a good time." Logan sounded almost plaintive. For the first time, he revealed the slur in his voice.

    Duncan stepped forward. "Logan," he said quietly. "Let me take you home. Please."

    Logan's anger flared, and Veronica caught a glimpse of what Meg's uncharacteristic _shit_ had witnessed. "What part of stay the fuck away from me didn't you understand?" he shouted.

     "The part where you make a fool out of yourself and start attacking your friends," Duncan said tightly. He looked at Logan for a few seconds, and then his gaze shifted to Veronica.

    Veronica opened her mouth to say something, but at that moment there was a roar of motorcycles. All eyes turned to the Andrews' floor-to-ceiling windows. Through the blinds there were visible at least a dozen of the PCH bikers, their tyres squealing as they halted in the driveway.

    Meg was the first one to speak. "You called _Weevil_?" She addressed Veronica, who could see amusement momentarily overcoming her agitation.

     Veronica turned to face the Andrews' entrance hallway. She murmured under her breath, "It seemed like a good idea at the time . . ."

    Weevil strode into the room, flanked by bikers. Veronica recognized the sweep of the room that his eyes performed; his mouth twitched with something like amusement when he spotted Duncan's black eye.

    "Hey, sweetpea!" Weevil greeted Veronica. "Having some trouble with your boyfriends?" Weevil turned to address Logan. "This girl. She's a piece of work. Everywhere I go, there are guys fightin' over her. Must be doin' _somethin'_ right, you know what I'm sayin'?"

     "More gatecrashers," Logan mumbled vaguely. "Really stealing my thunder."

    Weevil dropped his jovial routine. His hands fumbled for Logan's collar, grasping a fistful of his t-shirt. "You messin' with her? Because you know I don't like it when you mess with my women."

    "This isn't about me," Veronica said loudly. "Things just got out of hand." She paused, and Weevil's grip on Logan loosened. "Logan's leaving," she said flatly. For the first time, she met Logan's eyes. "Aren't you, Logan?"

    Logan's eyes were cold. "I don't think you asked nicely enough," he murmured. Abruptly, he writhed free of Weevil's grasp. He swung his fist and it connected with edge of Weevil's jaw. "And you're wrong—" He tried to swing again, but Weevil had sunk his own fist into Logan's stomach, doubling him over. He gasped, "it is about you—it's always about you—Veronica Mars—"

    Weevil hit him a final time, and Logan dropped to the floor. Weevil stood over him, rubbing at his jaw. He raised his eyebrows at Veronica. "You want me to finish him off?" he asked her, and Veronica could tell he was only half joking.

    "No. He's just . . . drunk and pissed off," Veronica said in a low voice.

    "And pathetic and fucked up," Weevil finished for her. "Yeah, I know the type. They all seem to live around here, you ever notice?"

    Weevil scanned the crowd; no one seemed inclined to step forward and disagree with him. He snorted. "We'll take him home. Let him sleep it off." He prodded Logan's body with his boot. Logan groaned in response. "But if he wakes up with _I heart Dick Casablancas_ tattooed across his ass, well that's just my man Felix's idea of a good time."

     A couple of the bikers stepped forward and heaved Logan up by his armpits. They dragged him away through the front door. Weevil cast a final look in Veronica's direction, and then followed them out.

    The rest of the 09'ers were beginning to speak to one another; a faint hum of chatter rose in the room as people began to shift restlessly. Duncan was still standing at side of the room, looking sad and frustrated. Veronica moved closer to him.

    "Hey, you wanted me to come to the party," she said quietly, summoning a teasing smile.

    When Duncan didn't reply, she continued, "I think I made a really good impression as a biker floozy. And if Logan does wake up tomorrow with an _I heart Dick_ tattoo, I think we can both agree that I have a solid career ahead of me in crisis management—"

     Duncan reached out a hand to touch her. He flattened his palm against her shoulder, his fingers curling around her upper arm. "Stop," he said quietly, firmly. "Tell me. Why did you call him? Why did you tell him to come here?"

    Duncan's eyes were searching hers desperately, but she didn't know what he was trying to find. She looked away. "He's a friend, Duncan."

    Duncan was silent for a long moment. "No, that's not it. You're playing something. I don't understand you anymore, Veronica." He pulled her closer to him, and his voice sank to the barest whisper. "I _love_ you, but I don't . . ."

     Veronica closed the gap between them. She strained upward and his hands slid down her back, drawing her body closer to his. They kissed passionately, and it was movie-perfect as always. Her hands reached upward as her arms came to rest on his shoulders, fingers curling together behind his head. Kissing Duncan had always felt like falling down a well. There was a time when she'd thought that maybe it was possible to fall forever. Now she just felt the ground at the bottom rushing to meet her.

    She pulled away, breathlessly. She slid out of Duncan's grasp, aware that the two of them had replaced Logan as the party's spectacle. Meg turned away before Veronica could register her expression. Across the room, Casey Gant raised his glass to them and toasted something that was swallowed by a burst of laughter from Dick Casablancas.

    "Reunited and it feels _so_ good, huh Veronica?" said Carrie Bishop. She looked them up and down, with a mixture of amusement and disdain. (Veronica suddenly became aware of her flour-covered shirt once more.) 

     The hostility in the room ebbed away. Someone righted the stereo and found a new CD. (Logan had apparently frisbee'd Green Day's _American Idiot_ across the room during his fit of drunken pique.) The new music insisted Veronica 'smile like you mean it'. She huddled into Duncan's arms. His fingers traced patterns along her forearm, and she couldn't tell whether it was meant to soothe her, or if it was just a nervous tic he was unaware of. Someone handed her a drink and she couldn't overlook the irony. It was just beer, though—warm and inoffensive. She gulped it down.

     Minutes passed, and Veronica realized that no one was looking at them anymore.

    Veronica leaned up to kiss Duncan lightly on the lips. She removed his arms from around her waist. "I really need to go," she said. "I told my dad I was only going out for half an hour."

    Duncan stared at her a little too hard. Then he nodded, relenting into a smile. "Okay . . ." He paused. "I'm glad you came. Even under the circumstances."

    She reached up to touch his face, flicking her thumb lightly across the purpling bruise around his eye. He winced. "You'll heal," she said, smiling slightly.

    Veronica stepped out of the Andrews' house into the muggy evening air. The maudlin art-rock melody followed her outside. She hugged herself, suddenly missing Duncan's embrace with a sickly ache that seemed to belong to her fourteen-year-old self. The rest of the bikers had left, but Weevil remained in the driveway, propped against the leather seat of his motorcycle.

    "Not much of a party," Weevil said idly as she slowed to a stop a few paces from him.

    "You got to kick some 09'er ass," Veronica pointed out. "I thought that was practically your definition of a good night."

    "Actually, I think you'll find I'm a lover, not a fighter." He paused, unable to suppress a grin. "And I _thought_ I was rescuing the damsel in distress tonight."

     "You shouldn't talk about Logan that way. He's very manly."

    Weevil snorted, and Veronica couldn't help but smile back at him.

    She glanced over her shoulder, and then said, "You wanna help me out with something else?"

    "It's a lot of favors you're callin' in lately," Weevil said, frowning.

    Veronica began walking to her car. She called back to him, "Is that a no?"

*

"You gonna tell me what we're doin' here?" The exasperation in Weevil's voice was muffled. "Because you may look like a tiny blonde thing, but I really didn't sign on for bench-pressing your weight."

    Veronica wriggled. She was seated on Weevil's shoulders, trying to angle her camera over a high stone wall. She kicked her feet, grazing the stonework. Weevil let out a low moan as she accidentally kicked him in the chest.

    "I can't—quite—get—the shot—" Veronica complained. She stretched upward. Weevil let out a string of colourful swear words under his breath, as her subject finally clicked into focus.

    "Okay! You can let me down now!" she said, half a dozen snaps later.

    With a surprising amount of grace, Weevil lifted her down, placing her gently on the sidewalk. Once she was safely down, he began to roll his shoulders, rubbing at the joints with his fingers. "If this is what your Nancy Drew shit entails, I think I'll pass in future," he muttered.

    "Aw, don't you want to do your part to see that the other half get what's coming to them? . . . rage against the machine?"

    "What was that guy doing anyway?" Weevil asked. They began to walk the half a block to where he had left his bike and Veronica her car.

    Veronica was fiddling with her camera. "Well, his girlfriend seemed to think he was cheating. Buying some overpriced hooker Tiffany jewellery with their life savings. Turns out he's been bleeding them dry on rearing a herd of ostriches. That was the lot where he's been keeping them."

    Weevil looked at her in disbelief. "You're kidding."

    She looked up and smiled. "Yeah. It's the hooker." She tapped her camera. "I could make my very own sub-standard adult website using these pictures." She made a face. "Slightly _too_ much information."

     "Because you're pure as the driven snow, of course." He smiled, needling her – but something in her face dropped.

    They took their last few steps in silence. Weevil straddled his bike, preparing to leave, but Veronica hesitated, bouncing her car keys in her hand. She took a step nearer, biting her lip.

    Weevil smelled like leather, mostly. Underneath was a sharp tang that she guessed was the motor oil that never really came out in the wash. He smelled mannish and strong and— _god, isn't a such a cliché_ , she thought faintly. _Because Duncan smells soft and sweet and_ safe, _like detergent and expensive shampoo._ She kissed Weevil suddenly, before she had a chance to stop herself. She'd almost worked her brain round it, logic'ed herself free of the whole situation. Except now her body was pressing into his. She felt sticky with sweat from the exertion of the "Nancy Drew shit"; her heart was beating too fast, squeezing out through her chest. Kissing Weevil wasn't something to get lost in; it was a hum of surface sensation. She still felt fixed in the moment – a dog barked, nearby, and a car rushed past, swirling a breeze hot and heavy with exhaust fumes through her hair.

     Veronica broke the kiss, although she did not pull away from Weevil. She realized she was still holding her car keys; they were digging into the palm of her hand and the place on Weevil's upper arm where her fingers clutched him.

    "We should do something tomorrow night," she said finally.

    "More spy hijinks? More favors for you to owe me." His voice was husky, and she felt a thrill as she saw the anticipation skid across the surface of his eyes.

    "No. You're gonna take me somewhere."

    "Okay," he said. He was suddenly serious, and she thought she saw a flash of sadness in his eyes.

    The thought popped unbidden into her head: _I remind you of Lilly now. Don't I?_ He answered her unspoken question with a final kiss, raw and wanting.

*

      
 _Epilogue: Monday morning_  

  


       

  


       

     These days, Duncan drove Veronica to school. The car was quieter than it had once been; sometimes Veronica looked in the rear-view mirror, still expecting to find Lilly in the backseat, shouting with laughter as she and Logan established their daily routine of talk-kiss-grope, talk-kiss-grope. Veronica fiddled with the car radio. She idled on a metal station that made her feel like her eardrums were melting, and then flipped the radio off abruptly.
  


       

    "I called you last night," Duncan was saying. "Where were you?" His voice was even, but Veronica wondered if he was suspicious.
  


       

    "I was seeing my other boyfriend," she said teasingly. She reached over, distracting him from driving by trailing her fingers down his neck. He smiled, and she looked out the window.
  


       

    They arrived at school early, but there was already a crowd gathered around the flagpole. Veronica caught murmurs of the conversation that circulated.
  


       

    "What's he doing up there—?"  
"Anyone know who did it—?"  
"—had it coming though"  
"Crazy bikers—"
  


       

    Veronica looked up at the figure of Logan taped to the flagpole. At least the bikers had spared him the _I heart Dick Casablancas_ tattoo. Veronica's attention was distracted by the flock of bikers that descended on the forecourt. Weevil paused for a second in her personal space.
  


       

     "That was one hell of a trust game last night, Veronica Mars," he murmured in her ear. "Did I pass?"
  


       

    Weevil circled the flagpole once more, and then produced a flick knife. " _That_ was for the sucker punch," he told Logan loudly as he sliced deftly through the tape that bound him to the pole.
  


       

     As she watched the bikers haul Logan down from the flagpole, Veronica pressed herself into Duncan's arms, weaving her fingers through his. She thought of the leather jacket hanging in her closet at home. She wondered whether Weevil would come to her door again tonight.
  



End file.
